Expectations
by Joelle8
Summary: And the thing is, despite being the villain's son, you know that you're better off than her.


Expectations

_You live up to your name, don't you?_

Of course you do, because that's exactly what everyone expects (_and aren't expectations meant to be lived up to?_). They see you: the pointed chin, the paper-white skin, the constant smirk, the pale blond hair slicked back in a manner far too old for an adolescent like you. You look exactly like a Malfoy's supposed to, and you've got the attitude to go with it. The never-ending insults that seem to just come naturally to you and that too-sharp wit of yours sting just as much as the animal you're named after.

_Scorpions only sting for self-defense._

What else are you supposed to do with all the glares, all the harsh words that people don't even bother to say behind your back? What else are you supposed to do when someone who's never spoken to you before comes up to you and screams at you, calling you Death Eater scum, wishing death upon your entire family? It's not like you _want_ your whole school to hate you, but you're a Malfoy and a Slytherin to boot, and there's no way your pride is going to let you be the victim here.

_Or at least, you won't show it._

Scorpions have got those killer stingers and those oh-so-hard shells of theirs, making them seem so impervious, so untouchable, so _invincible_- but under that hard covering is flesh, as soft and vulnerable as any other animal's. It's one of those things that should be oh-so-obvious, yet no one seems to see it. And you're _Scorpius Malfoy_ and you live up to _both_ of your names, so of course the idea of you being any different from your ancestors or those venomous little predators is utterly preposterous.

_As preposterous as the idea of Rose Weasley being anything but perfect._

Rose Weasley lives up to expectations just as much as you do. She's her parents all over again, combined into a single person: bushy red hair, petite with freckles, the smartest student Hogwart's ever seen (_since her mother, at least_), the Gryffindor Keeper, the last person you want to make angry. There's so much personality squished into her tiny body that you wonder when (_not if_) she's going to snap.

_It's sooner and sooner every day._

Because sweetheart, that's just the personality she _shows_ people; in reality, she's got it just as bad as (_if not worse than_) you. She's got two of the Wizarding World's greatest heroes ever as her parents, and that weighs her down even more than all the books she carries around in an attempt to live up to her mother's reputation, to the world's expectations. You see her flying sometimes (_and she'd kill you if she knew_), and you know it's not for fun, not for freedom like it should be: it's for training so she can staythe Keeper, because she really doesn't care about flying or Quidditch or sports in general but her dad does, and she just can't disappoint him.

_Not without the press making up a lie about it and ruining her life, at least._

And the thing is, despite you being the villain's son, you know that you're better off than her, because you know _who you are_. You know that you're Scorpius Malfoy, that you're so much more than anyone cares to look, that you're reasonably intelligent and love to fly and want to work for the Wizarding United Nations when you grow up. Even if no one else knows yourself, _you do_, and that's always been the case for you.

_But everyone thinks they know Rose- everyone except Rose herself._

They all see the same Rose, the Rose that she always portrays: carefree except when it comes to schoolwork, brave enough to face down a lion, too smart for her own good, loyal to her family until the end. _Happy_. But you- _you, _the one who's supposed to be her mortal enemy, the one who she has a screaming match with nearly every day, the one who seems to clash with her on absolutely everything- know her better than anyone, and that includes Rose herself.

_You know that she lives up to her both her names just as much as you do._

To any outsider, she's the perfect mixture of her middle and last names, of Granger and Weasley, exactly like she should be. And it's no secret that she stands out like a flock of birds flying in front of the moon, because she's beautiful and elegant and loving and so much else and it all culminates into _perfect_, just like those idealistic flowers.

_Somehow, everyone seems to forget that rose petals are just there to distract from the thorns._

Under her prettypretty petals, you know that she's all darkdark green stem and sharpsharp thorns just waiting to pricked. And you know that Rose just _can't wait _until someone _finally _does so she can scream and smash things and hurt (_not just other people_) without it being the biggest scandal of the century, without her entire world falling down around her and everyone she loves abandoning her.

_Because that's her biggest fear of all._

Yet she doubts that she'll ever be freed from this eternal cage of hers, because Rose Weasley might just be the best actress who's ever lived. She's managed to fool everyone- everyone but you, the one person she would never guess would know her so well. Even if she did, though, nothing would change: you're Scorpius Malfoy, after all. How could _you _know how to unlock the prison cell that she's been trapped in for as long as she can remember?

_So long, it doesn't even occur to her that _she_ might have the key to free herself, just hiding in her pocket._

You know all of this, but even you can't see through her masks all the way, and so you watch her; it borders on being stalkerish, but you just can't stop, because the idea of who Rose Weasley _really _is fascinates you more than your studies ever have. You spend your classes observing her movements, her facial expressions; your neck begins to hurt from the amount of time you spend craning it to try and hear what Rose says to one of her many friends (_are any of them _really _her friends, you wonder_). Your classmates notice and a whole new type of whispering follows you in the hallways, countless eyes darting from you to Rose and back again.

_You find that you don't really mind it that much._

After all, there are much worse things than teenagers spreading the rumor that you like Rose Weasley. Which is weird, because you should be horrified by this and doing everything you can to stop it; even if she intrigues you, you still hate her.

_At least, that's what you tell yourself._

Really, though, you can't say that anymore, because all your watching's paid off, if only a bit. You've seen the way her eyes stay perfectly still when she's supposedly reading, how she seems to just shut down whenever she's alone; you've heard the barely perceptible strain in her laughter, the desperation and guilt in her voice when asks Madam Prince to let her into the Restriction Section with a forged note so she can see what those Dark spells everyone refuses to talk about really are.

_She's already proved herself to be so much more than even you thought._

So you really aren't surprised- or at least, you shouldn't be- when, out of the blue, she sits next to you in class one day. Ignoring the way the rest of the room is gaping at her, she turns to you and her eyes tell you everything you need to know (_she's been watching you, too_). Then, ever so slowly, she doesn't grin; she doesn't frown. She _smirks_, a smirk worthy of a Malfoy, and you swear that you can see a lone thorn on the tip of her finger. Just as slowly, your eyes trained on hers, you don't smirk; you don't frown; you _grin_, and you feel that little bit lighter, as if a tiny piece of that much-too-heavy shell of yours has been cut away.

_Alone, you're lost in the shadows of your predecessors, drowned in your all-important name. Together, you're these fires of pure, vibrant life that burn everyone's expectations to ashes._

_That's just how you like it._

**(*)**

_**I know, I know, I should really be working on some of my other stories. Believe me, I'd love to if I actually had ideas for them. Meanwhile, though, this popped in my head, and I just had to write it. **_

_**By the way, before you ask, this IS poetry. It's called prose. Also, you may be wondering if this is a Rose/Scorpius romance fanfic. **__**That depends entirely on your interpretation.**_

_**Please review! Additionally, as much as I love Favoriting (and believe me, I do), please don't do so without telling me why you like it! Thanks so much for reading!**_

_**-Joelle8**_

_**P.S. Disclaimer (which I always seem to forget, sorry): See that sad face, on the immediate left of the word "See"? Yeah, well that's because I don't own Harry Potter, and never will.**_


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